


A Princely Reward

by Wicked_Thorin



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Bottom!Thorin, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-19
Updated: 2013-01-19
Packaged: 2017-11-26 01:13:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/644900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wicked_Thorin/pseuds/Wicked_Thorin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>King Thror, in gratitude, lets the Dwarf who found the Arkenstone name his price. He chooses a night in bed with the Dwarven Prince.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Princely Reward

**Author's Note:**

> (( A fill for this kink-prompt: http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/3138.html?thread=3873090#t3873090 ))

_A Princely Reward_

 

Thorin expected Thror to laugh at the impudent miner's request; laugh, or perhaps roar out his wrath until Erebor rang with it. How dare a lowly rock-hound request the very body of the royal prince? How dare he think himself worthy to touch one whose veins ran with Durin's blood?

But then Thror made a dismissive gesture and said _"Done"_ , and Thorin realized that it was the reaction he'd expected most of all.

His grandfather had changed in the last twenty years, and was changing still. _Sickening_ , perhaps, was a better word for it.

His grandfather would trade anything for treasure, for jewels, for wealth. And for this Arkenstone, perhaps one of the most beguiling treasures to ever pass into the hands of Dwarves, Thorin had no doubt Thror would have traded away the entire kingdom.

_I suppose my dignity for one night is a fairer price to pay._

  
Head tilted and lips pursed, Thorin gazed down at the grubby miner from his lesser throne beside Thror's. The miner held himself high, chest thrust out and shoulders squared: the bearing of any proper Dwarf. _Especially one who has found such a stone,_ Thorin supposed. The Dwarf's skin was darkened everywhere with grime- a mixture of sweat and the constant dust that floated through the mine shafts; usually invisible except when it clung to the skin in ever-increasing layers. His hands were large and knobby from years of swinging picks and mattocks, and pushing or heaving crates around. Thorin could hardly see his face for the size of his nose and his massive beard.

Studying this fortunate miner, knowing those worn hands would soon be on him... a dark heat flickered in the pit of Thorin's belly.

******

"Must you be told twice, Thorin?" Thror growled dangerously. Thorin's dark eyes jerked to his grandfather, thick brows raised in inquiry.

"I said go prepare yourself in your chambers. This faithful subject of Erebor, here, will be escorted to you shortly."

Thorin curled his lip. "Grandfather, we'll have to burn all of my bedding if you let him rut with me in my own chambers."

"There's money for new bedding, but no money can buy the time you are wasting. Now go. I'll be in my workshop making notes. Oh, but it glows like the very heart of the mountain, doesn't it?" His grandfather cooed and pawed at the brilliant stone, turning his mind from his grandson. Thorin watched him with an air of disquiet: although the stone was beautiful, he was not enslaved by its appearance as his grandfather was.

Then the Dwarven Prince stood, rising with a dark, velvety grace rarely known in Dwarves. Without a look or a word to the one he'd be entertaining later, he calmly retreated to his rooms.

*****

He was not nervous. He did not quiver in virginal horror. He had a glass of wine and unbuckled the scabbard of his ornamental sword from his belt, laying it aside. From his boot he pulled out his trusty knife and laid it aside, too.

He took off his boots and thick, woolen socks, a chill running through him as his soles touched the frigid stone of Erebor's floors. He had one or two rugs, but they were hard to come by and left much of his floor uncovered.

There was a basin of water at his sturdy washstand, which was carved from the very wall it stood against. He washed his face and his neck, and then set it on the floor and dipped his feet into it, scrubbing one foot with the splayed toes of the other.

He finished his glass of thick red wine and went to pour himself another, when a deep knock sounded at the doors of his chambers. He went to the great double-doors unhurriedly and opened them both- one in each hand.

The miner stood there, alone, as filthy as he had been half an hour earlier.

_What in Durin's name has he been doing all this time?_ Thorin sneered inwardly.

Thorin wrinkled his nose delicately. The Dwarf smelled of the tang of iron, of sweat, of the cold rock that he chipped away at day after day.

That sleepy heat writhed in the Prince again, a dull ache in his pelvis.

"Do come in," he said, lowering his head slowly. The gesture was ironic, meant more to amuse himself then to show respect to the miner.

The Dwarf nodded and shouldered past him, their sides grazing. Thorin shut the doors and barred them.

He stared at the miner. The miner stared at him, his eyes cold and hard as jewels beneath the overhang of his eyebrows.

"What is your name?" Thorin asked.

"Skror," the Dwarf answered, eyeing Thorin mistrustfully.

Thorin raised his head, staring down his long, straight nose at Skror. "You do not call me 'prince', 'your highness', 'young lord', or any sort of attempt at obeisance?"

Skror shook his head and began drawing off his fingerless leather gloves. "No, I did not. The way I see it, you are no prince, lord, nor any higher than me, this night."

Thorin's shoulders went rigid. A nerve in his upper lip twitched. His groin throbbed.

"Best get undressed," Skror said. "Works better, that way."

Thorin's skin felt suddenly very hot under his furs and leathers, and it was for that reason -and that reason _only_ \- that he began to do what the miner ordered.

He found that even as he struggled to undo the complicated fastenings of his ceremonial clothing, he couldn't keep his eyes off this Skror. Each sweat-stained layer the miner peeled off revealed something new and interesting: His arms were very thick and knotted with muscle, the skin pulled taut with the effort of containing all that strength. His legs were the same: squat and sturdy as tree-trunks, with veins winding up his thighs. Thorin thought he caught the shadows of old tattoos beneath the hair that furred him. Finally, the miner stepped out of his trews and kicked them aside.

Thorin let out a long, slow breath through his nose. There was a thicket of hair between Skror's legs, and nesting in it was a thick, heavy penis that even now was filling with blood, stirring like a sleeping beast lifting its head.

The Prince swallowed and shivered, thinking of himself. He was a relatively young dwarf, yet. His muscles were firm and growing everyday, but had not reached the mountainous density that the mature Dwarves had; also, while the hair on his head was thick and rich, there was much to be desired for its growing upon his body. From his lower chest to above his navel he was practically bare, and on his arms and overly-long thighs the hair was light and fine. It grew more wild beneath his navel and at the crook of his thighs, but looking upon this fully-matured specimen of Dwarf, Thorin couldn't help but feel a little less... proper.

  
He broke out of his revery and realized he still had a lot of undressing to do, jerkin, shirt, and trousers still; and so he tore his gaze away from Skror. He was undoing the clasps of his jerkin when a pair of hard hands wrapped around his wrists, prying them away effortlessly. Skror was a little shorter than him, but it didn't feel that way as he gave Thorin a measured look.

"Let me take care of that, lad."

Thorin opened his mouth to reply -he did not know what he intended to say- when Skror ripped the entire garment open in one yank. Iron togs flew around the room, ringing against wall and floor. Thorin's chest rose and fell quickly, mere inches from Skror's face.

"You...you would take care. That is royal property you have just damaged."

"Aye, and I intend to damage the royal property a lot worse before the night is over."

Thorin's heart pounded hard in his chest, and a soft, husky sound came from his throat. He closed his eyes as Skror took hold of his jerkin and tugged it roughly off him, down his shoulders and arms before tossing it away carelessly. Now only a coarse, cotton shirt stood between his skin and the greedy Dwarf's eyes. Or hands.

But Skror's hands went instead to his trousers, and with a crude sort of nimbleness he began undoing the leather cords that laced up either side of his legs. His pants were really the most ridiculous of his garments, meant for ornament and show and not for actual use. The crotch of them was smooth, without lacing or, indeed, any way to get important body parts out from the front. The only way to get them off was from each side, unwinding the laces which seemed to crisscross a hundred times from hip to ankle.

Skror started at the top, and so it was Thorin's hip, first, that felt the cool kiss of mountain air. Everytime the Dwarf's rough fingertips touched his skin he felt like flinching, but didn't, though his flesh stiffened with goosebumps. Skror began to breath hard as he labored at his task. Thorin wondered if it was from lust, or from the complicated workings of his trousers.

"I hope you will find I am worth the task," Thorin said scornfully, as one side of his pants finally parted and hung free. Skror grumbled and moved on his knees to his other side.

Thorin reached over the Dwarf's head and picked up the winebottle from the table. He put his mouth on the rim and overturned it, draining all he could without choking.   
  
_This is tiresome._

Finally, Skror tugged at his trousers and this time they came away completely. The sudden lurch nearly made Thorin drop the bottle, and scarlet wine splattered his shirt. "Careful, you fool," he snarled.

The bottle was torn from his grasp and shattered on a far wall. An open-handed palm struck his face and Thorin was hurled backwards, hitting the surface of his bed with a dull crack.

He laid there, blinking stupidly, too dazed to think. For a moment he could not recognize the sight of his own ceiling above him, and even when he did, he did not know how he had gotten to bed.

And then Skror crawled on top of him. Thorin groaned, weakly. The dwarf was heavy, coarse with hair, and he did not care at all for Thorin's comfort.

"Let's be realistic, you and I?" Skror said, straddling Thorin's hips. "Tonight I brought your Grandaddy a treasure beyond worth. After years and years of thankless toil, I did my duty and presented what, if you look at it another way, should be rightfully mine. I did my duty, I have. Thror could buy the very sky down with a stone like that. You know that, don't you?"

Thorin nodded, ears ringing faintly, his vision still a bit grey. He vaguely registered Skror fisting the sides of his shirt and then making a tearing motion, ripping the garment down the middle.

"And what do you think your Grandaddy would deny me, for such a treasure?"

"Nothing," Thorin muttered, closing his eyes in defeat.

"Aye, that's right. _Nothing_. And so tonight I'm taking part of what I'm due. I'll never get _everything_ I'm due, we both know that, but I'm gonna take all that I can get."

Thorin sighed silently, not answering.

Skror leaned down and pushed his mouth against Thorin's. His lips were dry and tasted dank like the mines, but they were powerful and when they kissed Thorin he had no choice but to kiss him back or suffocate. His mouth immediately began to ache, teeth digging into the inside of his lips.

Despite it all, he found his hips lurching up, sinuously pressing themselves against Skror's. And when the miner's mouth released his and his scratchy, charcoal-dusted beard scraped against his neck, he moaned. Skror's thick lips closed around the pulse in his throat, sucking so hard that he felt nerves all the way down in his chest stir at the attention.

The Dwarf Prince dug his fingers through the hair on Skror's back and clutched him close, rolling his head back so all his neck was bared to him. Skror's kisses were noisy, as was his relentless, hungry sucking. Thorin didn't have to check a looking glass to know that everywere the miner's mouth touched he left ugly and bruised. But every time that mouth grazed him his body reacted helplessly: toes curling, calves tensing, and thick, shameful moans sliding out of his throat.

Thorin's cock grew stiff quickly, and it was painful where it lay crushed between their masses. His pleasured sounds grew a bit more pained, and he had to complain. "Shift yourself, you oaf! I'll be a dwarf _princess_ by the time this is over, if you don't."

Skror pushed himself up, one of his elbows cracking. He was more confused than angry, or else Thorin probably would have gotten another blow.

The Prince sighed in relief and fisted himself, pumping his lively cock a few times as an expression of bliss floated across his face.

"Oh no you don't," Skror barked, effortlessly batting Thorin's hands away. Thorin narrowed his eyes at him, but then his attention was caught by something else: Skror's cock, very much fully-erect, now.

_By Durin's beard... it's as big as my arm._


End file.
